Eric Foreman's Letter to the World
by The Seventh L
Summary: Foreman/House one-sided on Eric's part . Foreman has something to say. About himself. Why he left. More importantly, why he doesn't want to turn into House. Spoilers for season 3 finale; originally written 6.25.07.


Dear World and all those who inhabit It,

As you may be aware, I, Eric Foreman, professional neurologist, have currently resigned from my post as diagnostician at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. No, I was not pressured by any third-parties or even anyone inside the hospital; although the letters of offers from different hospitals across the country did tempt me and made the decision easier when it came time to make a choice.

I ihad/i to make a choice. I was in a position equal to being a deep rut, going nowhere fast. I could never have gotten any kind of promotion under the current management - and by current management I mean my ex-boss, Doctor Gregory House. God forbid he bring up one of his acolytes to a level equal or higher than his. He does abhor being knocked off his special pedestal like that. Along with that ego even a mountain can't crush.

With every diagnosis given and every treatment suggested, the pressure was on. It was do or die, 24/7. House didn't care if you were on the clock officially or not; wherever you were you had to be ready to give an opinion on the Medical Case of the Week. He didn't even care about them; they were just puzzles to him, games he could wrack his brains on. It was horrific, almost tantamount to torture, to listen to him talk about his patients in such an inhumane fashion.

So I ran out of there, figuratively speaking, followed by Alison Cameron (who resigned) and Robert Chase (who was fired). I didn't think I'd ever see them again until a couple of days later. It was at a bar in downtown Plainsboro. There was some stilted conversation about finding new jobs, which flowed into a heated discussion over Dr House's antics in the hospital. Cameron pitied him. Chase loathed him. And I? I said I hated his guts, though not in those words. However, thinking over those words now, they ring hollow. Like I didn't mean them.

I left because I didn't want to turn into House. He was a cold, calculating man who only cared about his mind games and keeping control over a situation, even if it seemed like he didn't care what was going on. He only took interest in patients whose medical conditions were up to his standards of fascinating. In short, he was a monster. I'm not. I did not go through all the trouble of escaping the rungs of lower-class mentality and getting a degree in neurology to be tormented by a crippled white guy with a God-complex and a drug addiction. I deserve better than House.

But, you ask, I stayed with him for over a year. Yes, because I was naive in believing he could change; that I could make him see how stupid he looked, with his bloviating and his egomaniacal mood swings that are unsuited for his line of work. I thought that maybe, behind all the bluffing and trying to make himself look good, there was a great doctor who had a lot to learn from. Truth be told, I learned a lot about medicine from House. Our office took in a lot of unique cases that probably wouldn't be so common in many other places across the country. But I also learned a lot about what shouldn't be done; about following proper protocol and keeping a cool head.

When that girl died, I lost it. I forgot my priorities and blamed myself. In a small, small way I still do, but now without the massive guilt trips. But when it was still fresh in my mind, I couldn't seem to concentrate on my work. Every case seemed more personal that ever before. And then, while looking through humanity-tinted glasses, I truly saw with startling clarity the fallacies of Gregory House. All his faults, minute and major, magnified to make him look more like a grotesque caricature than a human being. _This isn't right_, a little voice inside me said. This voice grew every day until I finally handed in my two weeks' notice. And I don't regret it, either. Now that I see House for what he is, I can move on with my life.

My life. My family, which is basically my father taking care of my Alzheimer's-riddled mother. No love life to speak of. You may not believe me, but I once thought I knew who the 'one' in my life was. I had heard about it - the special 'one' who'd you keep in your life and love no matter what; the elusive eternal love. But it turned out my faux 'one' was a manipulative hard-hearted monster - a.k.a. not for me.

Can I love? I'm not sure. When I first started working at P-PTH, I honestly thought House was the 'one'. He seemed to be exactly what I was looking for in a woman, except male and no chest to speak of. That didn't bother me, although I never made advances on it. I was more concerned about the others: Wilson, Chase, Cuddy, Cameron, Stacey, all looking for the doorway into House's life, the one that would close behind them and lock up tight forevermore. House seemed intelligent in a purely cerebral way; he had a dry wit and a charming half-step due to his limp. Not to mention he almost never shaved and was the first diagnostician I knew to actually challenge his team with his questions.

I don't love him _now_, you understand. I know Cameron probably still does, in that sort of fix-me-up way she seems to specialize in. Chase only loves him on an aesthetic level, and that love probably went out the door with his job. Both Cuddy and Stacey have been pushed away, and I'd be damned if there was anyone new in his life that could be the next probable 'one'. So he's all alone. Like me - no, _not_ like me.

I can change, see? He can't. House is incapable of change in any form or fashion. But I'm changing right now. I've left the one place I used to call safe, and finding somewhere new to grow. Unlike House, I can get over the past, no matter how bad it once was. Unlike House, I can grow up.

So, to the World at large, I leave you with this: Thanks, but no thanks. I can do it on my own.

Sincerely,

Eric Foreman, Neurologist


End file.
